


Solace

by oOoElvenGloryoOo



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Light Angst, POV Solas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2019-12-30 13:11:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18315929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oOoElvenGloryoOo/pseuds/oOoElvenGloryoOo
Summary: This has changed a lot since the initial idea I first posted. Solas is dealing with guilt over all the reasons he has to feel guilty, doing a lot of things that might expose his true nature, and dealing (poorly) with a surprise cult of Fen'harel that's began popping up. His people want the hope of a slow arrow. He wants the Inquisitor. There will be eventual smut. This deviates from cannon but has been a blast to write.





	1. Trees

**Author's Note:**

> I had originally intended this as a one-shot deal but then I kept getting ideas, so now it has chapters. And introduces a more neutral view of Fen'harel emerging. Also I changed the title of the entire work.

The wooden slats of the raised platform pressed into his back through the bedroll. Skyhold was full of soft, warm beds, but he chose the scaffolding in the tower. If anyone thought it odd, they simply lumped it in with every other odd thing he did. He'd gagged down a bitter tea, and sleep came quickly. The familiar sinking feeling washed over him, tumbling into the darkness, landing in a dream.

His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, his face a mask of peaceful slumber. He shrugged off his body like a heavy coat he no longer need. He was home now. The dream he landed in slowly revealed itself.

Soft grass under bare feet, fragrant and impossibly green. The scene opened, emerald and lush, dotted with violets and dandelions. Fingertips brushing against petals. Birdsong fills the air.

The trees, rising up into a cloudless blue sky, budding leaves and blossoms making patterns in their shadows, swaying with the breeze. Lips pressed against his, she'd been eating fruits. Sweet and urgent. The heft of a breast weighed in his hand, soft whispers. She presses a berry, dripping in juice to his lips. It's bitter but he eats it, and the world goes dizzy. He sinks into her.

Trees, rising in the distance behind her shoulder. One is smeared red, pale carcass beside it, antlers peeking over grass. Halla. Arms stiff, legs bound, struggling while she laughs. Trees, bark against skin, scraping and rough. Trees, and rope, can't move, help. Help. Help. Screams go nowhere until they do. The hip! The hip! Aim for the hip! They sleep. Rope in teeth, mouth dry, mind sharp. Escape! Escape! Six eyes glow red in the final darkening scene. He was haunting himself. He never gets the relief of escape, instead gasping awake, coated in sweat, shaking and scared. And most of all, alone.

He laid there pantomiming rest, til the tower began to fill with the sounds of mages beginning work. He packed up his bedding, and drank down potions that would make up for the lack of sleep and ease the lingering tension in his muscles. Today he wasn't going directly onto research. Today he wasn't just going to nibble a bread roll for breakfast. He was going to indulge himself, just this once.

Barefoot and quiet, he made his way to the bath house via a detour in the kitchen. An important noble was visiting today, so he knew there would be all sorts of treats, made early in the morning, leaving the kitchen free for the main meals. He'd brought a small sack, and took his usual bread roll and small hunk of sharp cheese. To this, he added two bite-sized pastries, filled with marzipan and cream. Feeling bold, he gently added a chocolate croissant, and a bottle of the absolute best wine in the cellar. What was it Dorian called it? Day drinking? Self care? He hadn't done that in ages, but today he would. He felt a twinge of guilt knowing this will all be blamed on Cole, and switched out the wine for the third best in the cellar. There. That makes it more fair.

The baths were pleasantly deserted, but the attendant had lit the candles and incense, and the place had an almost temple like ambiance. He put down his bag of goodies, and stripped, scrubbing the nightmares from his skin before submerging into the pools. Rinsing himself with a final bowl of cool water, he took his picnic supplies and laid them out beside the pool of warm water. There were several pools in the bath house, and this one was moderately warm, scented with sandalwood and lavender.

Since he'd forgotten a corkscrew, he used magic to coax the cork from the bottle. Easing into the water, he took a long drink. It was red, but not too dry, sweet without being cloying, and redolent of cherries. A fine choice. He ate the small pastries first, savoring them, with deep drinks in between. He passed over the bread and cheese in favor of the croissant. The pastry was rich, buttery, and the chocolate was the finest from Orlais. For a few moments, the dream was forgotten. For a few moments he existed as he was before everything else fell around him.

"You're going to get crumbs in the water, you know". The Inquisitor appeared from behind the doorway's arch, unashamed of her nudity. How did he not hear her enter? She pointed to the "No Food/No Drink" sign. He laughed. "Then today, da'len, consider me a rebel. A trickster. A very naughty boy." He took another drink, and offered her the bottle.

"You're drunk" she said, before having some herself. "Only the third best in the cellar, nice to see you practiced some restraint." She taunted him. "I won't tell anyone if you give me the rest of that croissant."

He crossed the pool, holding the croissant aloft to protect it from the water. "As you wish" he said, displaying it like holy treasure. He took a moment to adjust to their close, and bare, proximity. They'd shared a few kisses, mostly in the Fade. He hadn't been near a woman in waking life since, since...then. She passed the bottle to him, but he turned it down. "You finish it, be my guest. My tolerance is not what it once was."

He could tell his darkened mood showed on his face. This is why he'd wanted solitude. She'd moved to look directly at him, reaching out to touch his face. "Solas, what's wrong?" He flinched away from her hand, instinctively. "Vhenan. I intended to deal with this alone, with drink and food and bath. This is not your burden, you need not bear it." She drew back but didn't leave. "You can talk to me, if you want to. Do you need me to go?"

"No, stay. In my youth, I made a mistake, and I am reminded of it from time to time. It's not a pleasant memory. Since then I prefer to limit my more romantic indulgences to the Fade, as I'm sure you've noticed."

She began to reply "I understand..." but he'd left the pool, and had began to gather his things. "We'll talk later, vhenan. Don't let them blame Cole for the pastries and wine, please. Just add it to my list of oddities, it won't happen again."


	2. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I intended the first chapter to be a self contained thing, but now I feel like adding to it, so let's see how that goes. Solas continues his debauchery and makes everything super weird.

Clean, but not refreshed, Solas left the bathhouse, the glaring morning sun unsuited to his wine-addled state of mind. As Iron Bull would say "He really fucked that up." Who was this awkward elf he'd become? Like a school boy running out of class to hide an erection. He'd had many lovers, with only one abusing his consent, touch shouldn't make him recoil after so many centuries. And he'd had to sacrifice half his croissant as the price of his escape.

Skyhold buzzed with activity, and Solas realized he may as well abandon his hope of a quiet place to process his thoughts. The woozy distraction of the wine had faded, leading him to the conclusion that certainly more drinking will fix everything. It seemed to work well enough for Bull, and Dorian, both who seem able to ignore the world falling apart for a few hours every evening, escape from doom at the bottom of every empty bottle.

The tavern was busy, and the drinks were cheap peasant swill compared to the wine he'd stolen and relinquished to the Inquisitor. It still made the critical voice that ran through his mind a bit quieter. "Your fault, it's all your fault, you did this."

It took time, and exposure, for him to remember people, humans and elves and dwarves and waking life people, were important, had hopes and dreams and love. It's so much worse when you know that. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he worries he deserves it. The way he's remembered. He deserves every bit of it, as well-intentioned as he imagined himself to be. With a wave of a hand, the cork pops from another bottle of wine, releasing his dark thoughts to the wild.

"You did your best. That's all you could do." Cole appeared beside him in the corner of the tavern. "She loves you." he added. Solas laughed bitterly "She loves what she sees of me, Cole." "You think you're either all bad or all good, but you're both. Everyone is. Don't let pride beat wisdom" Cole left as quietly as he came.

He chewed on Cole's words, breaking them down bit by bit in his mind. He was a spirit of compassion, of course he'd say something comforting. He can't fix everything, not everyone can be helped.

A large hand clamped down on his shoulder, interrupting his self reflection. "Here, have a real drink. None of that wine nonsense. This will put hair on your head, give you balls the size of dragon eggs, and maybe even get you drunk." A mug of...something...was pushed into his hand. It smelled like spiced mead mixed with the cleaner used to disinfect the floors. He drank it down quickly to avoid tasting it, coughing and sputtering on the final swallow.

"I've never seen you drink before. Are you mourning or celebrating?" Bull leaned back in his chair, drinking whatever that was like it wasn't made of burning. "I saw the Inquisitor naked in the baths..." Solas started. "Celebrating, then!" Bull laughed heartily. "Sadly, no. It went terribly awkwardly. I had something on my mind, and well, I fucked up, as you might say."

"You're both fit, healthy adult elves, what's the issue? Let nature take it's course!" He refilled Solas' cup without being asked. The second drink tasted less noxious. "I am out of practice in terms of sex, to put it bluntly. Sex feels out of control. I very much prefer being in control of myself." Solas confessed.

Bull replied with a grin. "You like control, huh? There's the solution to your problem" Solas sat up a little straighter. "What do you mean, Bull?".

"Do you need it spelled out for you? Try being in control. You tell her what to do. She doesn't make a move you didn't order. Provided she's into that." The Iron Bull hadn't expected this to become a sex education course.

"How do I know if she is, as you put it, into that?" Solas was skeptical. "Well you could just ask her if she's into being submissive like a big boy, but somehow I doubt you're going to choose that option. I dunno. You just gotta feel her out. Observe her." Bull filled both their glasses. This time it didn't taste like burning even a little bit.

Several hours later, the room spun before his eyes. Solas had magic to bring him to sobriety, but he hadn't rested well, and had no energy to use it. There, across the room, he saw something. Blonde hair. Pointy ears. The Inquisitor?

He stumbled closer, bracing himself on the wall as he went. Right now, while he had the courage, he was going to ask. Halfway there, he heaved a bit, swallowed down his vomit, then back up it came, spewing all over the wooden floor. Miraculously, he did not pass out right then and there, and made his way to the elf he'd spotted.

"My....heart....Bull said to ask you" he paused to steady himself upright and wipe the vomit from his mouth "if you're submissive during sex"

"I always thought you'd be better drunk. Nope. You're worse" That's all Sera could get out before Solas crumpled, unconscious, to the floor.


	3. Slow Arrows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am taking the liberty of giving the Inquisitor a history that is more neutral towards Fen'harel. Let's just pretend there's a clan that saw gods as complex beings and didn't require a black and white view of good and evil.

Cool, damp cloth wipes away vomit and sweat. Someone lifts a mug of brewed herbs and honey to his lips. It was all oddly familiar, though he was certain he was awake. Opening his eyes seemed impossible given the throbbing in his head. "You'll feel better soon, Solas. Just rest." The Inquisitor's voice as as gentle as her hand as it stroked his cheek.

New voices filled the room. Dorian. Sera. "Well, it's always the wiry types, isn't it. Impressive. It's a shame he doesn't like men" Dorian's words made him keenly aware of his nudity, and appreciative of the Inquisitor covering his lower half with a bed sheet.

"Now you've just made a tent" Sera added. "Surprised it even works after all that."  
"You know, back in Tevinter, I knew an elf who was absolutely delicious..." Dorian paused, realizing he was in a room of elves about to tell a story about sex slavery, and thought the better of it. "My apologies for oversharing, ladies. I'll leave you to your enviable work, Inquisitor."

"I was wondering if he'd die" Sera quipped. "He didn't, so it's boring. And gross. Don't go camping just cause you got a tent, right?" She took her leave as well.

Solas determined the best course of action would be to feign sleep until the infirmary was empty and he could slink back to the tower, brimming with shame for pretty much everything that's happened in the last 24 hours. The Inquisitor lingered, murmuring healing spells as she rubbed his limbs with lavender oil. "Ugh, you're impossibly soft." she said, not realizing he was conscious. "Which I'd have known by now, if you ever touched me in real life. But don't worry, your chastity is safe in my hands." She tucked the sheet around him, and pulled a warm quit up to his chin. Lifting his head gently, she put a second down pillow beneath. The scent of mugwort incense billowed in the air. "There, now you're all cozy. Good night, Solas." He felt her lips on the tip of his ear, then the door closed with a thud. She was gone.

It did not escape his notice that she knew his entire bedtime routine. The herbs to aid his journeys in the Fade, the heavy blanket to help shut off physical sensations, the lavender and mugwort. Sleeping on his back made for the most vivid dreams, and keeping his head steady and slightly lifted made it more comfortable.

Touched by her gentle care, he couldn't help seeking her out in dreams. He usually approached her casually, wanting it to seem as normal as it could given the situation. Tonight he merely watched from the shadows.

She was in the tower, watching an echo of himself paint. Her watching turned to pacing, growing more and more frantic, calling his name. Invisible. She felt invisible. Rage at this pseudo self overtook him and he jumped out, all black fur and glowing eyes, teeth and drooling growls. Clamping his jaws around the impostor's tunic, he tugged the illusion back into the shadows. There. He saved her. So why was she crying?

He emerged from the shadows again, this time clothed in deep blue silks, laden with jewelry, as he used to be. He wiped the tears from her face. "My heart, why are you crying?"

"The dread wolf was here, in my dream" she sniffed the wet snotty sniff of an ugly crier.

"Were you afraid of him?" Solas couldn't help asking.

"No. Our clan didn't fear him as much others did. I was crying because I'm sad, because he took you away." She hugged Solas tightly. "I'm here now, aren't I?" leaning into the embrace.

"Why are you dressed like this?" she wondered, face pressed into his chest.

"What, must I always play the humble apostate? Even in dreams?" He chuckled and she hugged him tighter.

"No, I like it. It suits you."

"You said your clan, it didn't fear Fen'harel? Not even a little?" Solas was too curious for his own good.

"Not more than you should fear any of the others. He got his due like anyone else."

"And what did you offer, vhenan?" Way too curious.

"I made an arrow. Father taught me to carve wood, though I wasn't very good at it. I'd always liked the story about the slow arrow, the way our Keeper told it. 'Be careful with your promises but still try to help.' I liked that the children lived. So I made an arrow, ugly as it was, and tied it to the statue. I thought that maybe if I ever needed it, he'd try to help."

" I did not realize there were clans like yours." he remarked. "What of everyone who died? What did your keeper say of that?"

"You want to spend our limited time together discussing elven lore, why am I not surprised? Is there ever a time when a monster looms and men and women and elders don't die? Monsters mean death, but if you can preserve something, like the children, things can go on. Things can be made right again. Believe it or not, you don't know everything. Like your own limits, for example" she glared at him, eyes like daggers. He was hoping the subject of his debauchery could be avoided.

"Can you chastise me later, vhenan? The morning dawns anew." He bent and kissed her head. "Wake up."


	4. Offerings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solas makes the Inquisitor Big Mad and finds weird shit in the plains.

The next few days were tense in Skyhold. The Inquisitor made a great show of stomping up to the mage tower every morning, and talking loudly with Dorian. The show amused Solas, who saw through it's pretense, but it also meant she no longer sat with him, quietly looking over her list of duties for that day. Now she did that with Dorian, peppered with too-loud laughs at undeserving jokes.

On the third day, she came back down a little slower, and he could finally stop her to talk. "Da'len, tell me, what did your Keeper have to say about Fen'harel's betrayal?"

Her reaction made it clear this was not the right thing to have said. "Da'len? Back to that now, are we? No more my heart this, my heart that, wake up so I don't have to have real conversations? Our Keeper didn't take things too literally and tried to find value in every story. It's not like we held wild sacrificial orgies in honor of the dread wolf, Solas. We just didn't lose our minds over it. They're old stories, that's all. He wore the ring out of habit, and thought the best way to protect anyone from anything was to learn about it and understand it's point of view."

"And your Keeper, how might I contact him?"

"He's been dead since I was 12. You'd know this if you ever paid attention to anything but yourself. The new Keeper had more traditional views. Since I'm certain this is all you'd possibly need me for, I bid you good day."

Despite her anger, and his own terrible social skills, he realized she still kept up their old habits. There was a roll with cheese and butter on his desk at lunch. Granted, it was missing the flower she'd always put on the plate, but it was there. The next day, she left a sweet pastry on his desk before going up to talk to Dorian. Slowly things returned to their own kind of normal.

Solas hadn't touched wine since, and had no plans of getting that drunk again, something he finally got to explain to her, as well as apologizing for his insensitive questioning. "I'm sorry I never thought to ask about your life before then. I tend to assume people will just say what they wish revealed, it was my mistake. I am often quite bad at anything outside of a book or a dream. And sometimes even in dreams I speak out of line."

She accepted his apology, and soon spent her mornings with him again. Their recent argument made him keenly aware that this particular morning, she was running late. He flipped anxiously through the requisition paperwork, waiting for the familiar footsteps. Finally she came. "So, what do you think?" she asked, excitedly. " I think we're short three tomes of Dalish lore and need more logging camps." he replied.

"No! About my armor! Iron Bull had it brought in and tailored to fit." He looked up, surprised at the amount of bare skin it revealed. "I'd hardly call that armor. If you weren't a mage, I'd be concerned for your life." The decorative ropes tied around the bodice made him think of all the ways Bull had described 'taking control'.

"Inquisitor, do you really have nothing else to do with your time?" he looked back at this paperwork.

"You can just tell me to leave, Solas. It's not that hard to be direct." She made it halfway to the door when he said "No, I mean, do you have time to spare? I could use your assistance."

Hours later, they stood in front of the shrine to Fen'harel in the exalted plains. "We've killed the dragon and did all we could here, Solas. Why return? Our efforts are better spent elsewhere."

"Look at the shrine, vhenan." He nodded towards the offerings. Several crude wooden arrows laid there, along with a yellowed piece of parchment. She bent to pick it up and read it aloud. "To the one who roams free, we fear things greater than you, and ask for one slow arrow."

"Could it be your clan?" The shrine made him nervous. "I noticed it when I came back to check on the research they'd gathered at the camps. It seems oddly timed, does it not?"

"The people are desperate. The sky is ripping apart, releasing all manner of horrors. I think it means what it says, there's worse things out there now. I tell you just like I tell Cassandra, my faith begins and ends with 'useful stories'. This is evidence of fear and uncertainty. I don't think it's anyone I know, and we should let them take their small comforts, however novel they seem." 


	5. Fenedhis!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas finds being bothersome a very effective tool for expressing power dynamics.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realize a lot of this is not cannon but it is fun to write

The walk back to camp just long enough for the lore-weary Inquisitor to make a request of him. "Solas, when we get back, can we please not speak of Fen'harel, my clan, or anything to do with history or religion?" Her face looked serious but he couldn't help himself "By eliminating the entire concept of history and faith, you've banned almost all avenues for intelligent conversation, da'len. And I revert to that term because the request is childish and beneath your station." She huffed in exactly the manner he expected.

"See. Childish. The topic reminds you of what you left behind. Your clan. Your happy memories. Your tragic ones. You'd rather ban all discussion than simply admit this is unusual and you should be addressing it." The wolfish grin of pride played at the corner of his lips.

She walked a bit faster. "Avoiding the subject or a drunken rampage of vomit and shame? Hmmm, which one is a healthier way of coping, I wonder?"

"Sera's influence on you is obvious, da'len. I must say, it's charming." He was winning.

She stopped just outside of camp, arms crossed and combative. "Fine. I'll look into it. And you will leave history where it belongs. In the past. For one night. You will have dinner and be charming. Deal?"

"As you wish."

He kept his word. He spoke of the quality of the weak ale, it's piney hops and roasted malts. He spoke of the bread, and how the cook knew to baste it with ice water to get the perfect crust. He'd make sure she was so tired of his descriptive pondering of every possible mundane topic that she'd regret her little negotiation.

"Could you pass the cheese, Solas?" she asked, finally able to get a sentence in. "Certainly. Did you know that this is made with sheep's milk? The sheep graze on spring herbs and new grass, which is what gives it that earthy flavor. While some use the milk to make a fresh cheese, this one was cave-aged. The fresh cheese variety is often rolled in the same herbs the sheep eat, but an ash rind is more common with the aged..."

"Dread wolf take you, stupid thing!" the Inquisitor tossed down the knife and wrapped her finger in the hem of her tunic.

Solas paused his monologue. "Ellana. You're bleeding."

She looked down and swooned. She wasn't usually weak to the sight of blood. She'd sustained many injuries and caused many more fatal wounds to others. But for some reason, in the heat of the fire, after several glasses of ale, she felt faint. 

He reached out and took the injured hand in his. The world shimmered briefly. In moments the skin had healed, good as new. "I thought you didn't want to talk about Fen'harel tonight?"

She sighed deeply, and picked the knife up, running it through the flames of the campfire, then wiping it clean, before sharpening it with the tool she'd pulled from her pack.

"You know, more injuries occur from dull knives than sharp ones. People use more force with a dull blade, and the wounds aren't as clean." Having healed her, he was back to the game, however petty it may be.

"Okay. I give in. Just say whatever it is you want to say and get it over with before you find yet another thing to go on about. " He'd definitely won.

"I can't help but notice the only time a god's name leaves your pretty lips is to swear. And it's only ever the one. You don't praise Mythal for an act of kindness or justice. You don't thank June when doing your crafting in the Undercroft, no. But every little inconvenience, you'll toss to Fen'harel. It's strange for someone who considers gods nothing but stories." Pride was getting the best of him. He knew he should shut up but his mouth kept making words happen.

"You think I'm pretty?" He was surprised that was her response.

"Naturally. More to the point, what exactly would you expect the dread wolf to do with this?" he picked up the now sharpened knife.

"It's just a habit, Solas. Don't make it deeper than it is. People say things. Every time someone says shit, it's not because they stepped in it." Sera really had rubbed off on her.

"Hold still, d'alen." His magic ensured she would. Gently, he cut all the intricate ropes of her bodice. "I dislike seeing you bound. The hunt is boring if the prey is tied. It might be Bull's style, but it isn't mine."

She clutched the fabric of the bodice to her chest, confused. "Wake up" he whispered.

In waking life, she'd fainted after cutting her finger, and Solas had carried her to bed before continuing the evening in dreams. He'd come too close with his words. With his actions.

"Breakfast?" He nudged her awake, one hand holding a brimming tray of food. Since she'd fainted before they'd eaten much, there were plenty of leftovers. "Does it come with descriptions?" she groaned while examining her healed finger. He laughed softly. "No, unless you give me reason to resume sharing my wealth of knowledge."

"You're jealous of Iron Bull" she accused, talking with a mouth full of bread. "Hardly." he replied. "We simply have different ideas of control. His advice is sound, in theory. If it's your armor you're concerned about, I'm certain you will find it intact."

"Solas. You can't just poof me into dream land to win arguments." He studied her face as she spoke. "And I swear to whatever gods you want me to that I won't speak to you for weeks if you use that as proof you won."

"You 'poofed' yourself into the dream, da'len. I just met you there. Perhaps you should sharpen your knife more regularly to avoid such mishaps." There. She couldn't argue with that.

She could however, make an unearthly noise of frustration and storm out of the tent with her clothes in hand. "I'm going to wash in the stream before we leave. I expect you'll be ready to go when I return."

He called after her "The streams in this area are home to at least four species of turtles, several unique types of freshwater fish, and three species of snakes, none being venomous, though one is among the largest water snakes in all of Thedas...." He kept it up til she knew he was out of earshot.

Back in Skyhold, she joined him the next morning as usual, and the plate with his pastry had the fresh flower he'd come to anticipate as a sign of her mood. "Tell me, what did you mean by 'His advice is sound, in theory'?". He choked a bit on his almond roll. His words had gotten away with him and now come the consequences.

"I, well, I was embarrassed the other day in the baths and he helped me" Solas hoped that was enough of an answer.

"I don't think the tavern maids mopping up the floor thought he was very helpful." He was never going to live that down, was he.

"Since you are intent on prying this out of me, I'll be transparent. I haven't taken a waking lover in quite some time. I am a person who enjoys knowing things will go as he expects them to. He suggested that perhaps your preferences would be compatible with that." Please, let that be enough for now, he silently hoped.

The door opened and the eavesdropper entered boldly. "He wants to play Tevinter with you, bad slave, bad, cept you're both elves, so that's weird. Pervert. Anyway, this came." Sera handed her an envelope and bounded upstairs to bother Dorian.

"I cannot emphasize how much I do not want to do...what she suggested." but the Inquisitor was busy reading.

"Fenedhi **s**! They found more arrows. Dorian needs to see this,it's from his father" She scowled at the papers in hand.

"You're doing it again" he chided.

"You know Solas, it's almost like you're the one who's scared of the dread wolf." She headed up the stairs, beckoning him to follow.

More than you know, he thought to himself. "Names have power, vhenan. I'm careful which ones I put in my mouth."


	6. Splinters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solas Greatly Disapproves of Slavery. The smut is on the horizon.

As Dorian read the letter from his father aloud, Solas began to get a feeling like he'd swallowed a heavy rock. More arrows had been found. Hundreds of notes, tucked away with arrows between bricks. In the branches of trees. Secreted beneath pillows. Dropped by weary hands as bodies finally succumbed to the strain of experiments. Each asking for the chance to hope for one slow arrow. The shadows of his mind had plenty of replies. If only they knew this is all your fault. If only they knew what you were. He thought of the means no doubt used to find this information and it made him sick inside.

"Aren't we lucky your family was willing to loot the oppressed, to violate their secret fervent prayers, to aid us in our search, Dorian. And thank you for so shamelessly reading it aloud for us. Good day." He turned curtly and stepped quickly back down.

"If he's that concerned about this, you'd think he'd be grateful for the information". Solas heard Dorian's voice carry down the stairwell. Of course he'd take the gratitude angle. They always do. Grateful for shelter, grateful for food, when the people were starved of freedom.

He never knew what to do when he was angry and there wasn't anyone to best with wit and words. He took the covers off the furniture, shook them clean of nonexistent dust, and draped them again, so his paints didn't ruin the antique pieces.

"Why are you so angry? He's only trying to help" Ellana had finally finished and came to join him. "They always are, da'len. Ever so very helpful." He sighed and turned towards her. "Did no part of you feel for our people as he read it? Watching how you talk to him, I'd hardly imagine you felt for our people at all."

"That's not fair, Solas. We're all here for the same goal." Ellana didn't sound as confident as he imagined she intended.

"Are we? Is he so terribly sorry, but what can one man do? He's well dressed and charming, what's a little slavery?" Solas massaged his temples and took a few deep breaths. "I'm sorry, da'len. I am being an ass, aren't I?"

"I admire your worldview. The thing is, we have to ensure there's a world to even have a view of in the first place. But yes, you are being an ass." She covered his hand with hers.

A small glow emitted from her finger. "What's this?" He lifted her hand to get a better view. It was the finger she'd cut. Did his healing spell fail? "Hey!" she exclaimed as he yanked her hand closer. She pulled it back, looking at what caught his eye. "It's a splinter. Ugh. I'll go to the cook. Mother used a paste of baking soda to draw out splinters."

"You're removing a splinter, not baking scones. Allow me." Gently holding her hand still, his energy drew the sliver of wood from her fingertip. "There. See? That was deep. It might have been there for years without you knowing. The cut must have somehow drawn it out."

He'd originally assumed the glow was just a reflection from the orb in her hand, but no. It continued to glow. "Solas, I realize you adore me, but isn't keeping the splinter from my finger a bit over the top?" She questioned his securing it in a small vial.

"Every part of you is potentially precious, vhenan." He replied, carefully putting the vial in the desk drawer, to analyze later, in private.

"Only potentially?" she inquired, shaking her hand despite it being fine, without so much as a mark where the splinter had been.

Perching on his desk in the way she knew he hated, she had more questions, papers crunching under ass. "Why don't you tell me about these theories you discussed with Iron Bull?"

"Now, da'len? Really? Fine." He gestured with his left hand, the sounds of the upper floors dimmed to a dull white noise. "Privacy. Something I should have attended to much sooner, with the sort of people you have running around here."

"Our friends, Solas. The word you're looking for is friends.". He raised an eyebrow at her. "Hmph. No one can hear us, at least not enough to make out the words. They can, however, still see down here, so please keep that in mind, Inquisitor. "

"I once dreamed of an ancient elven banquet, all lovers, gathered in pairs around a great low table. The game was to make love to your partner with no one the wiser, and it could go on for days, weeks, even. Release was never the goal, in fact, they placed bets against it. Those who could endure the longest were revered as having truly mastered the art. I've had time to study the techniques, but not a willing partner to turn theory to practice."

"And I'm to play the willing partner, am I?" she laughed. He answered "Emphasis on the willing". 

"You don't have to decide right away. You won't even need to be undressed. It would be no different than any other day you'd spend with me, on the surface. You could stop the experiment at any time. When, and if, this appeals, put a rose on my breakfast plate. They're quite lovely right now."

"I will certainly keep that in mind" she replied, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He felt his face blush hot from her touch. "If that makes you blush, however do you plan to do this experiment of yours? You'll turn red like a beet and run, maybe I shouldn't get my hopes up." She laughed teasingly, heading towards the door.


	7. Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas is a drama queen, brief smut, a touch of blood magic, frilly cake.

When the door clicked shut behind her, it hit him exacly what he'd proposed. Distracted by the splinter, and it's mysterious glow, he'd just blurted out the first thing that came to mind. Not to mention, he'd omitted a lot of details in his little suggestion. Like the fact that he'd seen it first hand. Those parties were rarely about the pleasure and more about proving yourself superior, gathering intel, and the bets were nearly always political and strategic. Just like his hasty words after the party at the winter palace, this too could be tossed up the fade. It was a handy excuse. Elven political orgies? The fade. Knowing a suspicious level of history? The fade. Avoiding all physical touch because you're the dread wolf ? The fade. See? Handy excuse.

He took to bed early, the vial with the splinter in hand. What dreams might it hold, if any? He turned it over and over in his hand, watching the faint glow as he waited for the herbs to take effect. He needed his dreams as clear and vivid as possible, in hopes of accessing whatever secrets this tiny sliver held. The bitter taste lingered in the mouth long after the tonic was gone, but it was fast acting, and soon he shuffled free of his body.

At first it was simple darkness. In the distance, he can hear the sounds of a camp settling for the night. Dalish? A fire burned fiercely in the dark, it's light carrying further than it should, beckoning him closer. An elven man sat by the fire, smoking a pipe and humming an old lullaby to himself. Indeed. The splinter must have been too small to hold anything, and he was in one of his own memories, another failed attempt at reaching the people.

He was correct. His younger self emerged from the shadows. The people were as wary of a kind wanderer in dreams as they were of a wolf. They had been warned from birth to watch for a wolf in wisdom's clothing. He placed his mind into the first person experience of the memory. Ah yes, the familiar banishings screamed as they desperately tried to wake up. Just as expected. Pulling back, though, the scene was not as he remembered, it was not the same outside of his past perspective. He quietly observed, wondering which version was more true.

The elven man stared at Fen'harel in wonder. "It, it, worked!" he exclaimed, fervently writing in a small notebook. He did not scream for him to return from where he came, to plague the people no more. Solas saw himself sigh in frustration and sink back into the shadows, completely unaware that the Keeper was in fact, not afraid. Not at all. He was...overjoyed? And taking notes.

He could feel wakefulness tugging at his consciousness and fought to hold on to the dream as long as possible. The keeper grasped something in his hand, glowing with the same pale blue light as the splinter. A crudely carved arrow.

The dream shifted abruptly. Ellana, cutting her finger, swearing in his name, blood welling on her fingertip as it began a faint glow that grew and grew til blinding brightness turned to sunlight. He was awake and it was the middle of the day.

He wanted to sleep more, to process what he'd seen, to study and analyze every detail. Instead, he got Sera. "Hey arse-face, it's the middle of the afternoon. Maybe not be useless, yeah?" Snapping on the polite condescension he wore so well, he rose and faced the day. "And to what do I owe this pleasure, Sera? Are you finally ready to be educated on elven culture or just here to spout insulting nonsense?". She rolled her eyes, and pointed to the desk. "It's just for her, right? She's my friend. Since you were asleep, she went out with Bull. Something, something, arrows. Shoulda taken me, yeah? She said you had to have your breakfast, so here. Might have bees in it. Might not." Sera rudely left the door open on her way out.

There was, in fact, a bee. Nestled in the deep pink rose decorating plate was a fat bumble bee. "Did Sera put you here?" He spoke to the bee as he gently picked it up and carried it outside to freedom. The rose. She'd agreed. Returning to his room, he realized there was a note was underneath the plate. It read "I hope Sera delivered this. I'll see you tonight. Arrows found in Val Royeaux." Underneath the words, Sera had added a little drawing of a penis with a sad face and pointy ears, with a big arrow pointing to it and 'you' scrawled in print. How thoughtful.

Tonight was hours away still, and those hours were filled pouring over books and studies. By the time the sun set, he'd determined two things. One, the glow was that of some kind of activated magic. Two, Ellana had made a blood pact, however accidental, to Fen'harel when she'd cut herself at camp.

It was later than he'd expected when she arrived. He was about to call it a night. She came in softly, clothed in a diaphanous pink gown that left nothing to the imagination, floating over her curves like a cloud, and clinging where it should. She held out a small white box tied with a bow. "I know how you feel about frilly cakes. Val Royeaux has the best."

He felt himself stiffen and was grateful for the loose tunic to disguise how easily he was affected. He awkwardly took the box, and set it down out of the way. "Is this what you're wearing around Skyhold, now, vhenan? Rumors will start that the Inquisitor rivals Andraste herself in her beauty." She smiled warmly. "Careful, don't let the devout hear you blaspheme like that."

Every time she moved, he caught a glimpse of her body as it pressed against the sheer fabric. Dusky pink nipples, pebbled from the cool night air. The curve of a hip, leading to the shadowy triangle just barely concealed. Urges he'd kept locked away for ages rushed through him. He tried to tell himself that it was a likely side effect of the unintentional blood offering, just a feeling that can be overcome.

She was reaching past him to open the package of cake. He leaned in, inhaling her scent, strawberries and arousal. "That's not what I'm craving, vhenan." She gasped in surprise, as he'd never dared get that close on his own. "Tell me to stop. Or don't. Your choice." Her arms reached up to pull him closer. "Don't. This is why I came. Please."

That's all it took. The rational part of him was helpless against that please. In what seemed like an instant, he pinned her against the desk, his lips against her neck, his hands roaming over her body. It was like he could feel her arousal coursing through his body, adding to his own. That part wasn't in the book about blood pacts. She reached out, running her hands under his tunic, and further down, rubbing him through his pants. The sensation was overwhelming and he moaned into her ear. "You are mine, my heart." He pulled off his tunic, tossing it across the room, and lifted her so she was seated on his desk, legs wrapped around him, her body closer than anyone's had been in so long.

She reached up to touch his face, the green glow of the orb suddenly illuminating the scene. He froze. The orb. This was still all his fault. The world was going to end and she didn't even know. She looked at him like he was made of moonlight and promises. He pulled back, the mood was gone.

"I'm sorry, I let that get out of hand." His breath was shaky, his tone tense. He moved out of the way so she could free herself from her seat on the desk. "You just looked so...and I...and, it won't happen again, vhenan. Not like that. We'll continue as planned in the morning, yes?"

Obviously confused and biting back tears, she straightened her gown, and went to leave. Turning back, she asked "I thought you wanted me?". "I do. Too much. Sleep well."

Neither of them would sleep well. He was left, by his own fault, to a throbbing erection and the memory of how sad her eyes looked when she left. Too pissed at himself to masturbate, he just sat there, hard, pulse pounding. He could, right now, just walk a short way across a hall, and be with her. Inside her, hands tangled in her hair, pulling her head back as he fucked her from behind, lost enough in his own desire to ignore everything, biting at her neck as he spilled inside of her.

Instead, he sat, sad and shirtless, eating cake with his hand out of a box. It was delicious, and that just kind of made things worse. He was being worshiped, which he loathed. He was loved, which made him scared. And he was becoming more like himself, which might make him dangerous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing smut makes me cringe yet here i am, writing it. please be gentle in your judgments lol


	8. Markings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas is jealous and the cult of Fen'harel is changing reality.

He awoke late the next morning, having slept right there in the desk chair, tears dried on his face and frosting caked under fingernails. At some point he'd flopped forward, his face pressed against paperwork, tears mingling with ink to really complete that sad sack piece of shit aesthetic he had going for him. She was no where to be found in dreams, nor did she come to see him that morning. Groaning as he extracted himself from the chair, his stomach rumbled. Guess he was getting his own breakfast today.

After a bath and food, he looked relatively normal again. Now to find Ellana. Her quarters were empty. No one was in the war room. The cook hadn't seen her, nor had anyone milling about the throne room. Varric had been writing all morning and hadn't talked to anyone, and Cassandra was training as usual. Vivienne was the most helpful. "The Inquisitor has gone to the tavern, my dear."

So that's where he found himself, watching her laugh easily with Dorian and Bull. From his position across the room, he got a clear view. They were sharing lunch, chatting and telling jokes. She glanced up and made eye contact with him, but made no attempt to call him over or come to him. Not that he blamed her.

Feeling bold, he approached the group. "Inquisitor, I would appreciate the report on Val Royeaux. I was supposed to receive it this morning." She glanced up at him, and he could see the dark circles under her eyes, puffy from crying. "Bull can fill you in. If you'll excuse me, I have things to attend to." Without another word, she took off, leaving him standing there with the other two men.

"Solas, I realize you spend most of your life asleep, but when a woman comes to you in lingerie, you don't, I mean, you do know what you're supposed to do, right?" Dorian's mocking smile irked him. " Yes, Dorian. I'm not a child." Bull clapped him on the shoulder. "Well you fucked that one up, buddy boy. She came to my room in tears and I had to console her til she fell asleep."

"You did what now?" His temper flared, picturing her, in that outfit, in Bull's bed. Dorian teased him "The apostate is jealous, I would have never imagined. Go dance in the moonlight, smoke some elfroot, or whatever you people do. I assure you, Bull didn't touch her."

"She is mine, Bull. If she wants to be, that is." Dorian laughed at him. "I was in the room all night. Your lady slept on the bed and Bull and I made do with the floor. You should really work on your issues, jealous lover isn't a good look. I preferred you as an apostate hobo."

Swallowing his temper for the moment, he focused on the second part of his reason for being there. "What did you find in Val Royeaux, then?"

"Well, the boss received a letter from one of Sera's people, who'd found a book. It was a message from Fen'harel himself, apparently." Bull took a deep drink from his mug.

"But Fen'harel never made solid contact with the people. They were too frightened" He tried to sound as detached as possible about it.

Bull shrugged. "Well, this guy didn't sound frightened. Boss doesn't think it's real though. 'Fiction is a thing, Bull.' That's what she said. "

Sighing in frustration, Solas left in a huff. She'd spent the night with another man, no two other men. And withheld vital information, as though a Qunari would understand the nuances of the discovery. The discovery...he knew before even seeing it, it was the little notebook from that dream.

He hadn't felt emotions like this in a long time. His. She was his. Jealousy welled up and crashed like a stormy sea. Dorian didn't concern him, it was obvious he preferred men. But Iron Bull, he'd be with anyone, wouldn't he? Could someone like him really resist a vulnerable woman, barely dressed, sleeping in his bed? He imagined all the things Bull had described when they spoke of sex, imagined his huge, meaty paws on her freckled skin. He tried to shake off the emotion, but he couldn't. For all he knew, Dorian was just covering for his drinking companion, and Bull had been alone with her, in bed, all night.

He seethed his way back to his room, everything about his posture tense and predatory, the mask of the polite mage shattering beneath uncontrolled emotions. He passed a window and caught a glimpse of his reflection. It was subtle. The angle of a brow, the color of the eyes a tad brighter, everything about him became slightly sharper. "Calm yourself" he whispered, willing himself down from irrationality, folding these new emotions back down inside.

Something was different. He could feel it in the core of his being, something had changed. If it was anyone else describing this to him, he'd suspect demon possession, some mishap in the fade. He needed to sleep, to lie alone with himself, to find the source of these feelings. Most of all, he needed to steer clear of Ellana until he knew what this was.

Someone had done him the favor of delivering the notebook from Val Royeaux.

"The slow arrow flies true without target  
Beware that time and wood form sharp splinters  
Hidden under skin emerges freedom  
Heed this warning well, keeper of people"

He read it aloud, the words vibrating with energy as he spoke them. Veilfire. He needed veilfire. Once summoned, the page glowed with hastily scrawled words. "The slow arrow has missed it's target." He dismissed the veilfire, observing the now blank space.

"What are you doing? What did you find?" He looked up to see Ellana standing there. "Nothing, unfortunately" he lied, closing the book.

"I'm sorry I didn't speak more to you earlier. My feelings were hurt, and I needed space." She looked embarrassed despite having done nothing wrong. "I want to understand, Solas."

"As do I, da'len. Perhaps you'd prefer a less complicated companion?" he asked.

"Dorian told me you were jealous of Bull. I assure you, I have no interest. They make quite the couple, don't they?"

"Dorian and...Iron Bull? Oh. I see. That's certainly unexpected." He'd been avoiding eye contact, but he lifted his gaze, and her face. It wasn't right. "Vhenan! Your vallaslin, it's...changed." Her once-subtle markings of Ghlian'nain were gone, replaced by a delicate arrow above each brow, and along each cheekbone, and two eclipsing circles on the center of her forehead.

"What do you mean, changed?" She looked around for a mirrored surface to look for herself, but found none. "You had the mark of Ghlian'nain, did you not?" She looked puzzled. "You really don't pay attention do you? I've always had the mark of Fen'harel."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say that anyone who's actually reading this sparks joy.


	9. Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The slow arrow changes everything.

The rest of the day passed like mismatched puzzle pieces smashing together to form something like reality. Gripping the desk to hide the tremble in his arms, trying to sound nonchalant, he navigated the rest of the conversation, til thankfully Cullen called her on urgent business. He sat at his desk for hours, hands turning book pages, eyes a million miles away, brain overwhelmed as it tried to make sense of it all. How? This went against everything he stood for. He quietly, politely, fell apart inside.

People came and went all day, unaware that his world had shattered. Bull and Dorian must have gossiped, judging by the gifts they brought. Varric came bearing several volumes of smut, with the suggestion that if he needed further instruction, Cassandra had "that real hardcore shit". Vivienne came under the pretense of talking about the origin of the knight enchanters, but soon it became clear her goal was to slip him a few potions from someplace called The Discrete Gentleman Apothecary. "It's perfectly normal, darling. Nothing to be ashamed of." were her parting words. Josephine was the one who'd gently left a stack of books on psychology, with titles like Healing The Wounds Of Masculinity: Techniques for The Modern Mage, and Emotional IQ & You.

Each one he'd nodded at, thanked, and dismissed, before resuming his staring contest with the abyss. Once night fell, and his lids grew as heavy as his heart, it began to stare back. The dream opened black, a faint glow of navy creating a horizon, shadows of trees rising up against a now-starry sky. Six eyes like burning coals, becoming pieces of red lyrium growing from this twisted form emerging from the shadows. It was rocking back and forth, arms around knees, cackling and howling and yelping, laughing like a madman.

Clutched in one hand was a wooden arrow, glowing brightly, save for a tiny speck near the tip.

Cole was shaking him awake, shattering the dream around him. " Nothing is the same and no one notices." He repeated this a few times, each a bit more panicked. Blinking away the vision, he replied: "Yes, Cole, I know. I notice." Cole looked terrified. " When you aren't you anymore...Spells need to be complete. You can still put it back."

Cole whispered. "They made a god that didn't want to be made, now he's here and he's you but he's not." The glowing eyes burned in the back of his mind, the world shimmered. While his wits were still with him, Solas grabbed the vial with the splinter and pressed it into Cole's hands. "Make them forget until you know I'm me. Especially make him forget. Do you understand, Cole? This is important. We haven't much time." Cole nodded, tucking the vial into a pocket, disappearing into the night.

He'd thought the change would be painful, but it eased over him like a well fitted suit. Colors became brighter, sharper, more alive. Smells filled the air that he'd never noticed. Mildew from where the damp had seeped into books from a leak upstairs. The feathers of the birds, and the dust they stirred up as they flapped. Dorian's musky cologne, overpowering it all. The manure from the stables wafting in from the other side of Skyhold. The turbulent emotions balanced out to a sort of calm, predatory numbness. The urge to sleep fled his body, muscles awake and alive with energy. His perceptions became more focused. The scent that stood out on top of the symphony was one of strawberries, roses, sweat, leather and iron, blood offered up to him. The sound that rattled so loudly all else may as well have been silent was that of soft, sleeping breaths, deep inhales and tiny snores. Ellana. "No!" he shouted to an empty room, downing three bottles of sleeping potion. "Not her. Not here, not in waking life." This time, the abyss did not stare back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short chapter, but I'll do more soon. Blessings upon all who are into this story so far <3


	10. Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas confronts himself in a dream. Ellana stands up for herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I updated. I wasn't in a great place, and I had to wait for the inspiration to come back. I should be updating more regularly soon as well as doing some one shots to keep the writing spirits happy.

He met himself against a sky like deep blue velvet, studded in constellations, shining jewels in the night.

"Do you like the way it feels, being a god? Or do you still have sense enough to be revolted by what you're becoming?

"Ellana, she...she has my vallaslin."

"Ah yes, an unpleasant side effect of being counted among the gods, isn't it?"

"The splinter....it..."

"Will be placed back where it belongs, when you find the arrow."

"I felt so drawn to her. I didn't know..."

"Didn't know if you wanted to bed her or eat her? You won't harm her."

"How do you know ?"

"This facade you wear is not doing us any favors."

"I will have no discourse with a demon. Find another part of the fade to haunt, spirit. I will not believe your lies, nor forfeit my body to you." He scolded himself, his voice wavering in it's confidence.

"Our body, and you're only haunting yourself. You have failed to integrate your shadow. Didn't you read those books from Josephine?"

"I won't let you hurt her"

"And yet, every tear she's shed recently has been your doing. The irony is ripe in your protest."

"Who are you!" He screamed at himself, met with wry laughter.

"I am the one who will set things right."

"Don't touch her. Promise me."

"When the arrow is whole, and things are right again, she will not remember any of it. You'll be back in Haven, watching over her, and you will be a stranger to her again."

"Promise me!"

"You've slept for days now. Wake up."

Cole found Solas, surrounded by shattered potion bottles. He cleaned up the glass and struggled to pull him up on the couch, arranging a natural sleeping pose. He waited, and waited some more. Eventually, it was morning and Ellana came with breakfast. Setting the plate down with a sigh, she glared at his sleeping form. "You can't just run off to the fade every time there's a conflict, you ass." By the second day, she'd grown concerned enough to move him to her cozy bed. Still he slept, even as Iron Bull carried him to her quarters.

"Promise me" he muttered in his sleep on the third day. They'd all taken turns checking in on him, though Ellana took over any chance she could. She talked as she cared for him, unleashing all the pent up anger she'd held for the past few weeks. "And another thing" she continued "is that you are the most self involved man I have ever met. All you care about is the fade, and leading me on. You really are just the worst. If you weren't so damn pretty, I'd..."

"You'd what?" he asked, now awake. "Am I really that terrible?"

"Oh, um, you're awake." she stammered, caught gently stroking his cheek, despite her angry words. He winced at the sight of her vallaslin.

"Yes, yes, I know. Maker forbid, I touch your precious skin lest I wrench you from some dream." she drew back and began gathering the things she'd brought to nurse him back to health. She paused and left the steaming mug of broth. He'd need that still. "Drink this, you'll feel fine. I won't keep you."

"Ellana, wait." He sat up in bed, hoping she's stay. "I'm sorry."

"Solas, you're always sorry. You're the most sorry person I know. When you're not being a total ass, you are brilliant, witty. Funny, even. You are the wisest person I have ever met. But, I'm tired of chasing you. I'm tired of never knowing if you enjoy being with me, or if you'd rather just go to bed and let it all, let us, pass you by. I'm here. I will always be here. But I am done chasing you. In case you hadn't noticed, there's a giant hole in the sky. I'm focused on fixing it. You should be too. If, in your free time, you feel like chasing me, I will be open to it. If not, I'll fix the hole in the goddamn sky, and you can go do whatever it is you do when you sleep. I have things to do. I suggest you go back to bed, back to your spirits. Maybe one will tell you how to act right." The door closed with a hard thud behind her.

She wasn't wrong. That's what hurt the most, that deep twinge of painful truth right in the center of your sternum. Would she really not remember, if the splinter and the arrow were reunited? He vowed to set things right, with her, and with the spell that was slowly shaping reality into something new. But first, with her. He could not go back to being strangers without pleasant memories to return to.

 


End file.
